Death and Milk

This is not a show about death. This is not a show about a mother, a son, and a goldfish. This is not a show about childhood memories. This is not a show about a motorcyclist who arrived too late and, with a flap of a butterfly’s wings, caused a brand-new tornado. This is not a show about resuscitating the dead, although it is not said that you will not learn to do that. This is not a show about what would have been if it had been, and how beautiful it would have been if it had been. This is not a show about fear. This is not a show about how dangerous deer, antelope, and other fellow cloven-hoofed bovids can be. This is not a show about deities in white robes with a sense of saving humanity. This is not a show about a boy playing with his mother’s rockets of salvation. This is not a show about apple pie on a table where the same people will never sit again. This is not a show about the light at the end of the tunnel. And the mists rising from the river of forgetting. And the continuous beeping sound that refuses to leave your ears.

Death and Milk is. It is a performance. It is an original project and the collective work of a group that, through stories, images, and self-reflection, explores our relationship with beginnings, endings, and all that we have left behind.